


When in Rome

by SweetSorcery



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Ancient Rome, First Time, Historical, M/M, Pretending to Be Gay, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turlough is painting the Doctor in period costume, but he's a perfectionist. In a bid for historical accuracy, they end up having a very enlightening experience in Ancient Rome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When in Rome

The Doctor was feeling extremely self-conscious and more than a little embarrassed. He hadn't realized how used to his cricket outfit he had become until he found himself stretched out on a sofa, clad in nothing but a toga, a pair of sandals, and a laurel leaf crown.

"Really, Turlough. I'm sure you have enough imagination to have simply... well, imagined this costume. Was it necessary to make me wear it?"

Turlough gave a long-suffering sigh. "Doctor, you agreed, remember? I explained it to you. It's impossible to draw the proper flow of fabric unless you see it flowing."

"What was wrong with my cricket gear?" the Doctor demanded petulantly. He knew that he was being petulant because yes, they had discussed the matter. In truth, he had been sufficiently flattered by Turlough's request to draw him to agree to this ridiculous set-up. He had no right to back down now, but he really would feel ever so much more comfortable in his familiar clothes. Or at least in... more clothes.

"There's nothing wrong with it as such," Turlough explained, setting down his pencil. "If you're about to go and play cricket."

"I wear it all the time, not just when I'm about to play cricket!" the Doctor protested.

"That's just my point, Doctor." Turlough frowned. "I wanted to try something a little different. And I've always found Ancient Rome a fascinating subject at school. Besides..." He stopped and bit his lip.

"Besides?" the Doctor asked, intrigued when he realized Turlough was struggling not to elaborate.

"Nothing. I just thought it would suit you, I suppose."

The Doctor's eyes widened. "You thought Ancient Rome would suit me?"

Turlough smirked. "Well, the gear they wore, anyway."

Unaccountably, the Doctor felt a blush coming on. "Ah. Thank you, Turlough."

They did their best to avoid looking at one another, Turlough shuffling around his pencils and sponges and pots of paint while the Doctor pulled at his toga every which way to try and make it cover more of him. He knew he was being ridiculous; only his arms were bare, and his calves, more or less, and a bit of his thigh because Turlough had insisted the toga should slide off him a little as he was lying on his side.

"You're ruining the pose again, you know," Turlough eventually moaned.

"Am I?" The Doctor grit his teeth.

"Yes." Turlough's eyes moved over the tall body on the couch, frowning at the way the toga had been wrapped and tucked in around the Doctor's legs as if he was a blushing maiden.

"I'm sorry." Wide brown eyes confirmed the sincerity of the sentiment, while expressing amply that the Doctor had no idea how to deal with the situation.

It was really all rather amusing, Turlough thought. "I suppose I can always call the finished portrait 'The Virgin Bride'."

The Doctor's jaw dropped. Then he realized that Turlough was making fun of his exaggerated modesty. A sound much like a giggle bubbled up in his throat.

Turlough's lips twitched, and soon, they were both cackling.

"Here, let me arrange you again." Turlough walked up to the Doctor and crouched down at his knees, where he set about draping the white linen back into place the way it had been before all the silliness. He let it fall over the front of the Doctor's knees and slid it upwards with his palm at the back of it so that half a smoothly tanned, hairless thigh was partially exposed. Then he encircled one ankle with his fingers, above the thin straps of brown leather sandal, to tilt the Doctor's foot a little, making it easier to hold the pose. He was so busy fixing everything up just right, he did not look up to notice the Doctor biting his lip and trying to control his breathing. "Almost there," he finally declared.

The Doctor nodded jerkily and allowed Turlough to reposition his arms as well so that his hand came to rest on the curve of his hip once again. "Done?" he croaked.

"Yes," Turlough stated, assessing his model. "Just the crown, Caesar." He grinned cheekily and reached up to position the laurel wreath on a slight angle. "Less distinctive and more decadent this way," he explained, then realized the Doctor was not grinning but looking at him with a strange intensity. "Is that all right?" he asked hesitantly.

A long pause.

"Doctor?" Turlough was kneeling in front of the couch, one hand on the wreath resting in blond hair, the other on the edge of the sofa by the Doctor's elbow.

The Doctor stared at him, then blinked and cleared his throat. "Uh. Yes, that's all right, Turlough." He smiled crookedly. "Is the painting nearly done?"

"Not by half." Turlough gave a dry laugh. "You really hate doing this, don't you?"

"No! No, of course not." The Doctor blushed. "I'm sorry, I'm just not very good at lying still, I suppose."

Not accepting that explanation, Turlough muttered, "Hm." Then his eyes lit up. "Doctor?"

"Yes, Turlough?"

"I think we should put this painting on hold for a bit."

The Doctor immediately shifted to sit up, smiling. "Excellent idea. Why don't we go somewhere instead? Somewhere nice."

"Just what I was about to suggest." Turlough rose and rubbed his hands. He looked positively triumphant, like a man who had achieved the enemy's surrender before even sounding the first battle cry.

"You were." The Doctor, eager to get out of his toga, gave him a wary look.

"We need to do some research. And I know just the place," Turlough declared eagerly. "Besides, it'll stop you being self-conscious about the toga."

Growing faint, the Doctor shook his head. "Oh no. Not--"

"Ancient Rome." Turlough grinned.

"That's a very bad idea, you know." The Doctor attempted to reason. "I'm sure you're quite aware that Ancient Rome was a rather dangerous spot. All sorts of things could go wrong there."

"You mean unlike in every other place and time you've dragged me to?" Turlough quipped.

"Ah... gladiatorial games, for instance! Now, we wouldn't want to be caught up in anything like that."

The Doctor's warning fell on deaf ears. Turlough snorted. "I promise not to volunteer if you don't."

"Someone might force us. They rather enjoyed that sort of thing."

"Someone might force the Tardis off its course to have us taking part in some life or death game of intergalactic ludo," Turlough suggested.

"Turlough, if anything goes wrong with the Tardis controls - and you know it usually does - we might end up arriving during the reign of someone like Caligula!"

"So long as we don't try to make off with his horse or his sister, we should be fine," Turlough responded without hesitation.

The Doctor gaped at him. "You won't be talked out of this, will you?"

"Absolutely not." Folding his arms and staring the Doctor down, Turlough refused to budge.

"Fine." An exasperated sigh. "If you insist. But don't say I didn't warn you. I have a very bad feeling about this."

"Thankfully, you're not psychic, Doctor. So I think we'll be quite safe." Turlough smiled and set about storing away his paint supplies.

While he did so, a smile lit up the Doctor's face. "You can get changed while I go and set the co-ordinates. I'll see you in the control room shortly." He made to leave.

"Uh... changed?" Turlough muttered, staring at him over his shoulder, arm full of paint brushes.

It was the Doctor's turn to look triumphant. "We're going to Ancient Rome, Turlough. A 20th century British school uniform is highly inappropriate attire. And we do not want to be standing out in a crowd, trust me." He turned on his sandal-clad heels and marched from the studio as majestically as he could in his long sheet of linen, crowned head held high.

* * *

The Tardis was just setting down on a cobbled path when Turlough entered the control room. The Doctor, releasing a lever and thus causing one final jolt, turned to call out to Turlough, but instead found his companion stumbling and sliding across the floor, right into his arms.

The clanking of metal and the whirring of the Tardis machinery stopped. In fact, all sound stopped.

Turlough was gripping the Doctor's biceps. "Uh... thanks," he muttered, not letting go. "It's those blasted sandals, I'm afraid."

"Quite all right, Turlough," said the Doctor, breath warm on Turlough's temple as he continued to hold him. He wondered why Turlough seemed so warm, then realized that the Trion, having rid himself of his layers of proper school attire, was now as sparsely clad as he himself. So presumably, he was wearing little to nothing on his naturally warm body underneath the toga. The Doctor let go of him quickly. "You'll get used to the sandals," he said with excessive cheer.

"Yes, I expect I will." Turlough avoided his eyes, swaying a little. He had been a little peeved at being outwitted and forced to don this ridiculous attire as well, but the sentiment was entirely obliterated now by his embarrassment - was it embarrassment? Yes, it had to be. He looked up into the Doctor's eyes; he looked a little embarrassed too. "You probably shouldn't wear the laurel wreath, you know."

"Goodness, no." The Doctor chuckled, pulling it from his hair and flinging it onto the console. "They might think I'm trying to upstage the emperor."

"So, who is the emperor right now?" Turlough asked, trying to read the controls.

"Let's see. AD 126. That means Hadrian has been in power for nearly a decade."

Turlough rummaged about in his memory of Earth history lessons. "He's fairly stable, isn't he?"

"Yes." A frown between the Doctor's brows. "At least he will be until the death of Antinous."

"I've heard that name." Turlough pondered.

"One of the greatest love stories in history." The Doctor smiled wistfully. "Well then, let's go."

The Tardis had landed among a group of magnolia trees at the far end of a vast garden. As soon as the travellers left the shade provided by the trees, they became fully aware of the almost staggering heat.

"You didn't bring us to Pompeii, I hope?" Turlough joked. He thought it quite temperate, but knew the Doctor was bound to find it stifling.

"That was nearly fifty years ago, Turlough, don't worry." The Doctor sighed. "But it's definitely the height of summer."

"I see why they came up with these now." Turlough flapped his toga around his legs.

The Doctor smiled. "Yes. Nice and breezy, aren't they?"

"Who are you?" came a startled, deep voice from somewhere behind them.

They turned to find a tall and heavy, middle-aged man strutting towards them.

"Ah. Good day." The Doctor gave a small bow. "This is Turlough, and I am the Doctor."

The man, weighed down not only by his considerable mass but also by no small amount of lavish gold jewellery, nodded at the Doctor, then looked at Turlough. And broke into a smile. "Good day." There was a twinkle in his eye that did not bode well.

The Doctor certainly thought so. He frowned. "Pardon us, sir. We don't want to take up too much of your time, but we have just arrived. Could you direct us to a hostel of some sort?"

The man assessed them carefully. "You have business in the capital?"

"Indeed. Rather important business," the Doctor stated. He had a feeling they ought to leave their present company as soon as possible.

"No need!" declared the man, having made a decision. "My villa is big enough to accommodate a few more guests. You came just in time."

"In time?" Turlough asked. "For what?"

The man's beady eyes fixed on him intensely. It was rather unsettling. "For the festivities, my blue-eyed beauty. Tell me, where do you come from?"

Turlough took a step back and folded his arms about himself, looking at the man as if he had sprouted horns.

"Ah. Well. We couldn't possibly impose on your hospitality." The Doctor ignored the question about their origins altogether and placed a reassuring hand on Turlough's shoulder. "Thank you, but we will find our own accommodations." He turned and pulled Turlough along, meeting no resistance.

"Halt!" called the man.

With a sigh, the Doctor stopped. "I knew Rome would mean trouble."

Turlough was, at that point, inclined to agree. "I don't suppose I could change my mind now?" he asked softly.

Heavy steps came up behind them. "I have extended an invitation to you gentlemen." The voice was still fairly pleasant, but louder and now laced with a hint of threat. "I am not accustomed to being refused."

Deciding on one last valiant attempt to get them on their way, the Doctor turned and smiled his most benign smile. "Our apologies, sir. But we are late for an appointment. So you see, we really must be on our way."

The man's eyes narrowed, and then he grinned. "It surely cannot be so urgent. No, gentlemen. This is a fortuitous accident indeed. The fates have chosen you to be my guests." He slapped the Doctor on the back. "And I agree with them. No appointment could possibly rival one of my parties, you shall see."

Turlough looked around and, to his consternation, found a pair of guards now positioned between them and the Tardis. There was a sinister air to the dark brows under their helmets. "Perhaps we'd better accept the invitation, Doctor," he whispered.

The Doctor had noticed the guards as well. "I'm inclined to agree." To their host, he said, "Very well. Might we ask your name, sir?"

"Pardon my lack of social graces. I am Senator Cordelius." The man showed a wide grin as if they were now the best of friends. "Now, let me show you to your rooms so you can refresh yourselves before the banquet."

Both the Doctor and Turlough rummaged about their memories for any scrap of a mention of Senator Cordelius. Neither of them recalled anything, let alone any references to ritually murdered party guests offered as the main course at banquets. Not that they had much choice but to stay.

They allowed themselves to be led to the senator's villa, following a few steps behind the man and trailed closely by the guards.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Turlough murmured. "This is all my fault."

The Doctor looked at him kindly. "Don't worry, Turlough." With a smirk, he added, "It's not your fault that the Tardis provided you with such a fetching toga."

Turlough stopped in his tracks, staring at the Doctor, and one of the sinister guards marched right into the back of him, grumbling.

The Doctor reached for Turlough and pulled him along quickly. "Best not give them any reason to be angry."

"Uh... no." Turlough shuffled along, completely bewildered. "Doctor?"

"Hush."

Senator Cordelius had stopped in front of a large door and a servant hurried and opened it. "This is your room, Doctor," Cordelius declared with a generous gesture.

The Doctor frowned. "What about Turlough?"

"I am certain I shall find appropriate accommodations for your young friend." Another of those beady looks were shot in Turlough's direction.

"I'm sorry, Senator." The Doctor reached for Turlough's arm and pulled him against his side. "He stays with me."

There was some disappointment mingled with annoyance on the chubby face. "I see. He is your eromenos."

The Doctor flushed bright red, while Turlough simply looked confused. "Ah. Yes. Yes, he is." He didn't know if the bluff would protect Turlough from the man's advances, but aside from being forced to stay, they had not yet been threatened with any actual bodily harm.

The senator's irritation was palpable. "I did not realize. Very well, he can stay with you." He moved back to the door. "You will be called when it is time for the party. You will find a choice of garments in your room. Until later."

The door fell shut behind him.

Turlough stared at the Doctor. "Look, I realize you just saved me from a lot of trouble, and I'm really grateful, Doctor. But please say you did not just tell that man that I'm your slave."

The Doctor looked as if he was about to burst out laughing, but then shook his head. "Oh Turlough. I'm sorry."

"About?" A suspicious look.

The Doctor took a deep breath. "I told him you were my lover."

* * *

Some minutes passed before Turlough was able to speak. "You didn't."

"I did. Well, I didn't tell him as such," the Doctor stammered, flustered and uncomfortable. "I simply didn't deny it when he asked."

"I seem to remember you confirming the fact." Turlough sounded surprisingly calm.

Sighing, the Doctor paced up and down. "Well, you and I know it's not a fact."

"No, obviously not," Turlough agreed quietly.

"But I really think it best if our _host_ continues to assume that it is. I'm not entirely sure I quite convinced him, and if he doubts my word, then..."

"Open season on Trions."

The Doctor looked at him, horrified. "This is intolerable. We need to find a way to escape."

Turlough gave a lop-sided grin. "You've probably noticed that the guards stayed outside the door."

"I know. Maybe the party revelries will afford us some opportunity to remove ourselves from the premises."

"Doctor?" Turlough looked quite worried. "You don't suppose this is one of those parties where they sacrifice virgins and feed them to the lions and--"

The Doctor interrupted. "I think you're getting your histories a little mixed up."

"They're not exactly _my_ histories, are they?" Turlough sighed. "Which is why I was an idiot to insist on coming here. Feel free to say 'I told you so'."

"Would it help?"

"I doubt it."

"Exactly." The Doctor walked up to him and rested his hands on Turlough's narrow shoulders. "I don't blame you at all, Turlough. We're here, and we'll just have to make the best of it."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't mean..." The Doctor flushed, withdrawing his hands quickly. "What I mean is that we should go along with what's expected until our host relaxes his grip enough for us to make our escape."

"Go along. As in..."

"I don't know, Turlough." A sigh. "An erastes and his eromenos are allowed, and even expected, to show outward signs of their... uh, relationship in this place and time."

"Erastes?" Turlough looked confused at the new term. "My history teacher seems to have been negligent, Doctor. It might be best if you explained just what it is we're meant to be."

The Doctor's hands were sweating, but at least he was in somewhat familiar territory now - teaching. He sat at the foot of the majestic bed, waiting for Turlough to join him. "Many Roman men take a young male lover. They are expected to take care of his education in... uh... every way. This young man is their eromenos. The older man - the erastes - is expected to break off such an arrangement when he reaches middle age."

"Why?" Turlough asked curiously.

"Because society believes that an older man holding onto his passions for a young man is foolish and undignified."

"Hypocrites," Turlough muttered.

The Doctor smiled briefly. "Yes. The current emperor will put this rule to the test, not long from now."

"Antinous."

"Indeed." The Doctor watched Turlough take it all in, proud of his companion's composure.

"And one man's eromenos is off-limits to others?"

"Unless his erastes allows it, yes."

Turlough nodded. "Well, that's clear enough. Am I expected to be sub-servient or anything like that?"

"You're taking this extremely well, Turlough." The Doctor looked at him affectionately. "I'm impressed."

Turlough smiled, lowering his eyes. "Not much choice, is there?"

"No." A sigh. "You are only expected to act like a pupil might. An erastes is supposed to be a mentor, not a slave master."

"No shackles then."

The Doctor cleared his throat. "Ah. No shackles, Turlough, no."

Turlough looked up at him, meeting his eyes boldly. He was quite aware that the Doctor was as anxious and out of his depth as he was. "Can you do it, Doctor?" he asked softly.

The Doctor blinked slowly. "Do what?"

"You know. Act like you fancy me."

Turning bright red, the Doctor looked away. "I... I can manage, I'm sure." Then he asked hesitantly, "Can you?" When no answer came right away, he looked at his companion, meeting intense blue eyes.

"Yes," Turlough simply said.

The Doctor swallowed. Hard.

* * *

They decided to try and blend in as much as possible in their bid for freedom, so one after the other, they used the lavish bath in the next room and dressed in the elaborate garments laid out in the main room The Doctor chose a pale gold stola with white trimmings, matching sandals, and a plain silver bangle. Turlough fussed for some time, standing in front of the clothes with only a sheet around his middle.

"What about the blue one?" the Doctor finally suggested, a little hesitantly.

Turlough looked askance at him.

With a soft smile, the Doctor explained, "It matches your eyes."

Turlough smiled bashfully. "Is that a good thing?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Shouldn't I be wearing the most hideous thing I can find? Something to really clash with my hair and skin? I wonder if there's anything orange here."

The Doctor rose and walked up next to Turlough, purposely not looking down at his leanly muscled, bare torso. "Don't worry, Turlough," he said very softly. "I promise, I will not let anybody touch you."

"Am I that obvious?" Turlough asked, embarrassed about his concerns. "I don't know why I bother, really. This so-called host of ours is going to be the only one with his eye on me anyway."

"I wouldn't bet on that."

Turlough looked up at the Doctor, and for a moment, he was fooled into thinking he saw desire in those soft, dark eyes. "I'm impressed, Doctor. You're a good actor."

A wistful smile. "I'm relieved to hear it."

There was a knock on the door, and it opened before either of them could speak. A slave they had seen earlier shuffled in. "My Master has asked me to show you to the atrium. The other guests have arrived."

The Doctor nodded. "Just a moment. My... Turlough is not quite ready yet."

Turlough grabbed the blue stola and went into the bathroom to shrug it on. When he returned, the Doctor smiled and held out a bronze bracelet to him and, without question, he took it and put it on.

"Ready then, I suppose." Turlough's voice was far from steady.

"Please follow me," said the slave.

* * *

When they were shown into the vast atrium, they found the room full of guests, all of them dressed in expensive robes and far too much jewellery, and most of them were male.

"Stay close," whispered the Doctor.

Turlough nodded.

"Ah, there you are!" The master of the house approached them with two other men looking equally distinguished and untrustworthy. Following closely behind them was a dark-haired youth with a pretty, pleasant face. The men stared at the Doctor and Turlough in open curiosity, and the youth sidled up close to one of them, encircling his arm. The man turned and smirked at him in a very intimate way.

Turlough swallowed and was about to step closer to the Doctor, when he felt a long arm wrapping around his shoulders and drawing him against the Doctor's side.

The senator frowned, then introduced the other men - a merchant and a scribe, the latter of which was accompanied by his _pupil_.

"We will have songs and dancers shortly," said Senator Cordelius. "Please, find yourselves a good vantage point, and I will send my slaves to bring you food and wine."

"Thank you, senator," said the Doctor coolly. "Turlough?"

Turlough let himself be led away, certain he could hear whispering from the men to whom they had just been introduced. The merchant muttered something that sounded like 'exotic'. He shivered.

The Doctor, whose arm was still around Turlough's shoulder, turned his head to look at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Squeezing his shoulder reassuringly, the Doctor led him to a low bench covered with plump cushions in every shade of blue and red. "This is as close a spot to the exit as I can see," he said, sounding frustrated. "Our host must have planned it that way. The room is not that full."

Turlough took in the seating arrangements. "I'm afraid you might be right, Doctor."

Small groups of people were seated on similar cushioned islands, and all of them seemed between them and the exit. Most of them were staring openly at them.

"Am I being paranoid or is everybody looking at us?"

The Doctor frowned into the assembly. "They're just wondering who we are, Turlough."

Turlough gave him a doubtful look. "Right."

"What is your talent, young man?" came a wine-soaked voice from a pile of cushions nearby.

Turlough and the Doctor turned and looked down to find a very inebriated character leering at Turlough with glassy eyes.

"I beg your pardon," Turlough said coldly.

The man chuckled, his stomach bouncing up and down and nearly upsetting his goblet. "Not one of the performers then? Pity."

"No, he is not." The Doctor glared at the man and directed Turlough to sit on the bench, positioning himself so he blocked the drunk's view of him.

"Cordelius!" the man called out, and the senator shuffled towards them. "Is there no place in tonight's entertainment for this young Celt you have invited?"

The senator smirked at him, then at the Doctor. "Yes indeed. It is customary for the visiting youths to entertain us with any special talent they may have, sir. Surely you would not have me break with tradition?"

The Doctor looked at him coldly. "Turlough is with me. Any talents he may possess are my own."

His words made Turlough shiver, though he didn't want to analyse exactly why.

"And what, pray, have you taught him?" the drunkard demanded to know.

Turlough piped up in the hope of diffusing an ever more tense situation. "I can paint."

"Paint?" the senator asked disbelievingly. "A charming talent, my pretty." He laughed. "But not, I fear, one that is suited to entertaining my guests." Chuckles were heard all around.

The Doctor looked at Turlough regretfully. "It appears I am not making my point clear enough." And very softly, "Sorry, Turlough."

Before Turlough could answer, the Doctor pulled him close possessively, and kissed him.

Turlough flailed for a moment, then gave in, knowing the Doctor was only staking his claim for all to see. He melted into the kiss, his own arms wrapping around the Doctor's middle as he began to return the pressure.

A few hushed whispers and gasps were drowned out by Turlough's own heartbeat, and the whole range of sound had calmed to a pleasant lull by the time the Doctor released him. The Trion was glad he was sitting down, or he would have toppled over.

A cough sounded from the drunk. "Not one to share his bounty, I see."

"Certainly not," said the Doctor, and his voice was husky rather than annoyed.

Turlough gave him a curious sideways glance, realizing the Doctor looked as flushed as he felt. It made his stomach tighten pleasantly.

The senator's eyes had darkened, whether with anger or something else was hard to tell. "Very well. Disappointing, but the Doctor does have his rights."

"Indeed," the Time Lord confirmed with a stern set of his jaw.

Turlough sat and stared at him, still feeling decidedly dazed by the time the senator had already left and the drunk was once more intent only on refilling his goblet.

Suddenly, servants entered the atrium and set about extinguishing most of the oil lamps. The room was soon dipped in darkness, brightened only by the remaining lights reflecting in the water-filled impluvium in the centre of the room.

Then the entertainment began in the shape of a young flutist playing two or three tunes to much applause.

Turlough had been glancing sideways at the Doctor throughout the recital, attempting to decipher the expression on his face. Infuriatingly, the Time Lord refused to look at him. "Doctor," he finally whispered.

The dark eyes seemed reluctant to meet his. "Yes, Turlough?"

"I understand, you know," Turlough continued in the same whisper. "Why you did that, I mean. I don't mind."

"Oh." The Doctor flushed. Or probably flushed, for who could tell in the near dark. "Thank you, Turlough. And... I'm sorry."

"No need." Turlough smiled a little, and it seemed to ease the Doctor's conscience. He really could be terribly coy sometimes, the Trion thought affectionately. He also looked quite undeniably handsome with his hair looking golden in the flickering lights and his eyes sparkling with embarrassment. Or something. Turlough moved a little closer until his thigh was touching the side of the Doctor's leg.

The Time Lord jolted. "What are you doing?" he asked in a near panic.

"Keeping up appearances," Turlough stated calmly. "Our host just looked our way, probably wondering why we - unlike everyone else - are sitting so far apart."

The Doctor looked around wildly, but failed to see the senator anywhere. "Did he? Oh. Yes. I suppose that's a good idea then." He shifted back against the raised cushions behind them, tucking his legs up under himself to his left.

Turlough shifted up against his side, legs tucked in to his right, until the Doctor's arm had nowhere to go but around his shoulders. Then he leaned back and tilted his head against the side of the Doctor's neck. "This should convince them," he said a little breathily.

"Yes. Yes, it should." The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut briefly, trying not to notice that Turlough's vibrant hair, glossy in the soft light, smelled of the sandalwood oil they had been sent for their baths earlier, or that his companion fitted into the circle of his arm as if measured for it.

The flutist left the small stage, and a group of dancers - young men and women in very scant costumes - began to weave and sway and undulate at various free spaces in the crowd, to much appraise and leering remarks.

The Doctor sat a little stiffly, wondering whether the pretty dancers shouldn't affect him at least half as much as Turlough's continued proximity. A proximity forced by circumstance, he had to remind himself. He was still pondering the matter when the dancers disappeared and the senator made his way out into the crowd, raising his arms to get everyone's attention.

"My friends! And now a very special performance indeed. Welcome to our stage two young gentlemen of excellent culture and refinement. Two perfect blossoms: Marinus and Trajan."

The audience roared, and it was clear that the two young men were well known among them and obviously much anticipated performers. When two youths dressed in short costumes of iridescent blues and greens entered alongside each other, it became clear why. They were the most handsome creatures imaginable.

Their talents did not appear to end there, however, as they bowed to one another and, accompanied by two musicians - including the young man with the scribe earlier - began to perform an elaborate dance. It was a very sensuous display, the two young men undulating before one another, sometimes barely touching, sometimes leaning close enough to nearly kiss.

After a few minutes of this, the Doctor felt decidedly warm, and if he was not mistaken, Turlough's temperature was rising a little as well.

"They're beautiful," Turlough whispered, his breath warm over the Doctor's collarbone.

"Yes," the Doctor agreed huskily, trying to straighten up a little and finding Turlough pressing closer. He tightened his arm around his shoulder, and then gasped when his companion's hand rested on his thigh. Merely for added balance, of course. Even so, he could not stop looking at the slender hand with the bronze band at its wrist; it was warm right through the thin cloth of his stola. "Turlough," he said softly.

Turlough turned his face up towards him, and they were so close it only took the slightest tilt of the Doctor's head for their lips to brush. Turlough returned the kiss, more consciously than the earlier one, and when the Doctor's tongue slipped gently through the seam of his lips, he allowed it into the warm cavern of his mouth immediately. His fingers clenched in the soft fabric at the Doctor's shoulders, and he craned his long neck to deepen the kiss further.

The Doctor drew him tight against his chest, and his hand rested on Turlough's hip and squeezed. When Turlough moaned softly, the sound sent echoes of pleasure through the Doctor.

Hushed voices traversed the edges of their perception, and the Doctor's ears picked out the senator's and the scribe's, moving past nearby and towards the exit. "Turlough," he murmured against the soft, damp lips he was reluctant to release.

"Hm?" A sigh, and another kiss neither had the heart to end.

Finally, the Doctor shifted back, putting some scant distance between them, but cupping Turlough's cheek. "I'm sorry, but..."

Turlough's eyes were heavy-lidded and his lips parted, and the Doctor was quite sure he had never done anything harder than to resist leaning in for another kiss. "Um... Turlough, we..." He swallowed. "Our host just left, and I think we should... I mean, there might not be another chance any time soon."

Turlough swallowed his disappointment and gave a quick nod. "Yes, of course." He drew back, eyes lowered. Tugging his stola back into place, he moved far enough away to not feel the Doctor's tempting warmth anymore.

For his part, the Doctor cursed the senator for choosing that moment to provide their window of opportunity, but he... they... Well, there was time to think about that later, wasn't there?

The room was still dim, with all eyes fixed, mesmerized, on the beautiful dancers. The Doctor rose quietly, looking around very carefully, and held out a hand to Turlough.

Turlough took it without hesitation, and they made their exit from the atrium as quietly and swiftly as possible.

No one appeared to notice their exit, or else assumed the performance had put them into the kind of mood requiring more private quarters. Either way, they had gotten as far as the vast front hall before hearing the senator's voice.

"On the morrow then," Cordelius was saying in hushed tones. "By nightfall, the empire will be in the hands of a weak, peace-loving fool no more."

The Doctor stopped short, and Turlough frowned. "What are they.."

"Hush."

The scribe they had met earlier was laughing at something. "And it is time, before the rest of Rome grows too contented and willing to chance the loss of territory once more. Hadrian is more fond of Antinous than the whole of the empire." There were derisive snickers, then a long pause. "Those two strangers, Cordelius. Who are they?"

The senator grumbled. "I know them not. They spoke of urgent business in the city, and they looked too foreign to be mere visitors. I did not want to take chances and have them interfering."

Laughing, the scribe said, "Not to mention that you have taken a fancy to the boy. I know your tastes."

Turlough shuddered, and the Doctor squeezed his hand. Turlough returned the pressure gratefully.

The two men in the small room were suddenly making their way back towards the hall, and the Doctor drew Turlough away swiftly. "Quickly, before they see us," he breathed, and Turlough did not need to be told twice. They hurried along the darkened hall and ducked into a small adjacent room when the guards by the front door crossed the doorstep.

A moment later, there was a commotion coming from the atrium, and the senator stormed out into the hall. "Guards! Find the two strangers - the Doctor and his red-headed companion! Now!"

The guards, rather obligingly as far the Doctor and Turlough were concerned, hurried down the hall towards the atrium, some of them splitting off to ascend the stairs to the guest rooms.

The Doctor and Turlough took the brief moment to hurry outside and run across the vast lawn, hearing angry shouting behind them.

"Outside, you fools! They will hardly hide in their room!"

They ran as fast as they could, long costumes trailing behind them, while their pursuers did their best to catch up.

One last desperate sprint, and they were inside the Tardis.

"Oh, blast." The Doctor scratched his brow.

"Doctor?" Turlough moaned. "Now would be a really good time to leave."

"We can't."

Turlough looked at him, torn between wanting to be off as quickly as possible and knowing exactly what the Doctor meant. "Well, all right. How accurately can you park the Tardis when it matters?"

The Doctor smiled. "One way to find out." He pulled two rarely used levers and set the Tardis in motion, only to stop it again virtually right away.

Turlough barely managed not to fall head first into the console. "I'm glad we don´t do that too often."

"Quite." The Doctor straightened up, clearing his throat. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, Doctor."

Smiling, the Doctor proceeded his companion out through the door and straight into a vast bedroom. "Oh dear."

There was a young man stretched out on his back, lying across the ornately decorated bed. His hands had been folded under his nape, and one muscular leg had been drawn up close to his body in relaxed contemplation. At least, until the strange blue box appeared at the foot of his bed with a fair degree of noise. He sat up quickly, about to call out to the guards, when a very bashful looking man exited the box.

"Who are you?" the youth demanded, first in Latin, then in Greek.

The Doctor did not need to be told whose bed chamber they had landed in, or who the man before them was. The dancers who had enchanted the senator's party hardly warranted a second thought once one laid eyes on the sinuously muscled young man glaring at him now. It was both a thrill and a cold terror to see the ringlets of golden hair, wide eyes, smooth skin and elegance of thousands of statues in the flesh.

The Doctor sensed Turlough behind him, equally speechless.

"Tell me who you are to enter the emperor's private chambers unrequested, or I will have the guards on you!" Antinous demanded. He looked every bit the young warrior, fierce and protective.

The Doctor swallowed. "We are travellers. We mean no harm to yourself or the emperor, rest assured."

"What then?" the Greek demanded.

Turlough cleared his throat. "We have come to warn him. There is a plot against his life."

Antinous' features did not change, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes and his voice softened. "Who dares plot against Hadrian?"

"Senator Cordelius and a scribe by the name of Titus," the Doctor said.

"How do you know this?" Antinous stepped close to them, assessing them with keen eyes to judge their trustworthiness.

The Doctor explained about the festivities they had been forced to attend, and what they had overheard.

Antinous listened attentively, then nodded. "Very well. You appear to have no reason to lie, and to come here like this, unannounced, shows courage. The emperor thanks you." He smiled. The smile was brief, but would make the sun itself envious. "And I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Both the Doctor and Turlough stared at Hadrian's favourite for some moments. "Well, we must leave now," the Doctor finally stated. He bowed briefly and turned back to the Tardis. "Turlough?"

Seeing Turlough looking plainly distraught, he frowned and whispered, "No."

"Please, Doctor."

Antinous watched their exchange with some confusion. "What is it?" he asked.

The Doctor closed his eyes and made a quick decision. Turning back to Antinous, he said, "The emperor is lucky to have you, Sir. Please be careful." And as an afterthought. "When you travel on the Nile."

Antinous looked at him wide-eyed, then smiled again. "Are you an oracle?"

The Doctor shook his head sadly. "We are from your future."

"Then I shall consider your advice." Antinous laughed uproariously. It was a rich, beautiful sound, but terrible because it was clear he did not believe them. "Farewell, friends of Hadrian."

Nodding, the Doctor turned and ushered Turlough into the Tardis. They were silent when the Tardis set in motion, and had travelled for some minutes before the Doctor looked up from the console to see Turlough disappearing into the next room where the converted studio was.

"Turlough!" He hurried after him, finding him standing among his easels and paints and brushes, his head hanging dejectedly.

Deep blue eyes swimming with an unaccustomed degree of emotion looked up at him. "He didn't believe you. He won't be careful."

"No." The Doctor sighed. "You understand I couldn't say more, don't you? I shouldn't even have tried. Hadrian is not meant to die yet, but Antinous will, in four years. I cannot change that."

Turlough sighed. He tried to smile and failed. "I know. It's just very sad. Lovers... romances shouldn't end so terribly. Or so soon." He moved to turn away, but the Doctor caught his arm.

"Not all of them have to, Turlough," he said softly, lifting Turlough's chin with gentle fingers.

Their eyes locked and held. The hand on Turlough's arm relaxed and slid up to his shoulder in a caress, and Turlough moved forward.

The Doctor held him close and kissed him for a long time.

When Turlough eventually drew back to gasp in a breath, pleased to see the Doctor equally breathless, he smiled, not removing his hands from around the taller man's nape. "We're not putting on a show anymore, are we? I mean, there's no one here to watch."

The Doctor laughed softly. "No, and I definitely prefer it that way. Besides..." His dark eyes were tender. "Who was putting on a show?"

Turlough shivered, leaning in to kiss the Doctor until they were both dizzy. "Where are we going?" he murmured against his cheek, not really caring.

"Anywhere you want to go," the Doctor said, and his voice was unusually deep and breathy.

"I think this time, I'm letting you choose."

The Doctor smiled, his hands tightening around Turlough's waist. "I'll give it some thought."

"Meanwhile, we should probably change out of these," Turlough said, looking down at their stolas.

The Doctor blushed. "I rather like them. Especially on you."

Turlough smiled up at him, then started to retreat back to the sofa on which he had posed the Doctor what seemed like an age ago, not releasing his hold on him.

The Doctor followed all too willingly and let himself be pushed down on it. He looked up at Turlough, and pulled him close.

Turlough moaned softly as he sank against the tall, prone body stretched out under him, and when he felt gentle hands smoothing up the outsides of his thighs, pushing the fabric up to his hips, he shifted upwards, his hands cupping the Doctor's face, and kissed him again.

Deep groans and low sighs travelled between their open mouths while their hands burrowed frantically to reach warm, bare skin. Then the Doctor wrapped his hand around the back of Turlough's thigh and drew it up past his own hip, and just like that, they were flush against one another, hard and so very warm.

"Oh, Turlough, yes..." the Doctor gasped, his hand tightening and his hips surging up.

The Trion moaned, returning the pressure, grinding down hard. His hands were fisting in the Doctor's silky blond hair, his back arching. "Please," he whimpered. "Doctor! Please!"

They slid against each other, skin damp and sweaty, the warm space between them increasingly slippery. There was no coordination, no set rhythm. It was just right, and the Doctor's hands moved to cup the smooth globes of Turlough's backside, and Turlough shuddered against him, curving like a bow stretched to its limits, and found his release against the Doctor's belly. It took only another moment for the Doctor to follow him with a deep, satisfied groan.

They lay in each other's arms for a good long while, enjoying the soft humming of the Tardis engines punctuated by three heartbeats.

"Thank you," Turlough eventually whispered.

The Doctor lifted his chin and found him smiling. "For?" he asked, amused.

"I reckon I learned more today than during my entire time at that blasted boarding school."

The Doctor laughed softly, then pressed a tender kiss to Turlough's lips. "Looks like our old Roman friends had the right idea after all."

"Hm." Turlough agreed, snuggling close. "I think I'm going to like being your eromenos."

THE END


End file.
